


Cloudy Sunshine

by ChocoDamon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff, Kidlock, M/M, Omega Verse, Slow Build, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:50:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1507811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoDamon/pseuds/ChocoDamon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As long as Sherlock Holmes could remember, he had been in love with John<br/>Watson. John never questioned it. But, can the strength of young love<br/>survive the tides of time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One where John is Okay

**Author's Note:**

> A take on Sherlock and John's relation through various stages of their  
> lives. Set in Omegaverse, it may or may not contain all the traditional  
> elements involved in a typical Alpha/Omega story.

If you asked Sherlock Holmes to pin-point the exact time when he realized that John Watson belonged to him, he would have merely shrugged and called you a nosy-idiot. Because that was perhaps the only important question in his life, which he never really knew the answer to. For as long as he remembered, John Watson had been inexplicably his. For all he knew, the Universe had specifically designed John Watson to protect Sherlock from the malignant infectious idiocy of the human race. His instincts had long supplied him with the knowledge that John Watson was essential to his existence. And Sherlock never questioned his instincts. For all intents and purposes, John Watson was destined to be his mate. They would be eventually joined for life. John was his to love, his to keep. His John.

If you asked John Watson to pin-point the exact time when he realized that Sherlock Holmes belonged to him, he would fondly reminisce one bright sunny Wednesday afternoon in primary school, when he laying in the muddy playground, after a wild rugby match, his limbs all spread out like an angel. He had his eyes closed to shut out the sun, when he felt a presence looming over him. He opened his eyes to see a small boy, roughly of his age, all limbs and bones and with a shock of raven black curls. The sunshine gave an unearthly glow to his pale skin. But, it was unmatched to the glow of the piercing gaze of the blue-gray eyes that were minutely scrutinizing John’s face. John could do nothing but stare back into his face. It was probably after a few seconds, or maybe several minutes or perhaps many sunlit days, when John heard him speak. 

“I love you.”

The words were said in all seriousness and with such steadfast surety, that John did not find him to question their authenticity. So, he simply replied,

“Okay.” 

This lead to some more staring. The brunette squint his eyes and regarded John for sometime before saying,

“Your eyes are too blue.”

John agreed. His eyes were indeed very blue. For a moment he wished that he had the other boy’s stormy blue eyes. He groped about for a suitable reply to that statement, but came up blank and so safely settled for an apology.

“Sorry.”

The boy waved his hand dismissively. 

“They will do. On second thoughts, they go nicely with your golden hair.”

John was relieved. He did not want to seem unattractive to the one who loved him.

“Okay.”

The other boy shrugged. “Do you have a preference for monosyllabic conversations?”

John’s face screwed up in confusion. “Monosylla…?”

The boy sighed wearily. “Mono-sylla-bic. Saying very little or responding with one-syllable words . You are an idiot. But, don’t worry. I still love you.”

Apprehensive of disappointing his first lover, John mustered his courage and stood up from his muddy-bed, but Alas! found that he was at least two inches shorter than the boy standing in front of him. But, instead of despairing he puffed up his chest, and pulled himself up to his fullest height. He was not an idiot. His parents and all his teachers were proud of him. His friends thought that he was extremely smart.

John all but glared at him. “I am not an idiot.”

The boy cocked his head and said, “No. Since, I am in love with you, you cannot be a complete idiot. But, you are an idiot nonetheless!”

Little John did not know whether to take offence to his words or take them as compliments and bask in their glory. So, he did the next best thing he knew. He said, “Okay”.

The boy sighed dramatically. “If we are going to converse, you really need to learn new words. I surely cannot be in love with a dim-wit. “

With that he turned around and started marching towards the school building. Seeing the brunette walk away, John shouted from behind, “But, I don’t even know your name!”  
The boy turned and gave a dazzling smile. “Sherlock Holmes.”

John nodded his head in understanding and gave a small, tentative smile of his own. “I am John Watson.”

“I know.” With that Sherlock again turned back and walked away from there, leaving John standing in the mud, covered in dirt and sweat, and trying his best to roll his tongue in the right directions and pronounce ‘Sher-lock’.

So, this is how a six-year old Sherlock Holmes fell in love with a seven-year old John Watson. And John Watson sort of went along with it.


	2. The One where the Cat goes Missing

Sherlock had been as young as three-years old when he solved his first case, but it was at least four years later when the incidents of one his solved cases were actually written down by a certain John Watson. The official title for the case, as given by John might have been, “The Case of the Missing Cat”, but in his mind Sherlock always referred to it as the “The Case which had made His John very sad and it was an expression which he never wanted to see on His John’s face ever again.”

After his famously professed love, and John’s delightful acceptance of it, the boys always made it a point to meet up after school, in the park behind Sherlock’s house. John insisted that people only fell in love after they knew everything about each other- their likes, dislikes and other such mundane things. Sherlock found such ideas exceedingly trivial and pedestrian. But, he kept his thoughts to himself, because he had inkling that John was all but oblivious to the word ‘pedestrian’. More than a year into their ‘relationship’, and John’s vocabulary was augmenting at a rather sluggish pace. As far as Sherlock was concerned he already knew everything that he needed to know to be in love with John. “He was John Watson. And he was not a complete idiot.” Every extra bit of information, just made Sherlock love him more. So he, albeit grudgingly, indulged John’s whims.

It was one such meeting, when Sherlock found His John perched on a swing set, with a rather forlorn and lost expression on his precious face. Sherlock occupied the neighboring swing and waited till John was ready to tell him about whatever it was that was bothering him. John never kept anything from him. However, after several minutes passed and John continued to be silent and brooding, when Sherlock found himself at the end of his extremely finite rope of patience and said almost accusingly, 

“John. You look sad. I don’t like you sad.” 

John simply looked at Sherlock for some time, and when he spoke there the telltale quiver in his voice, that was prologue to the treacherous tears that were threatening to escape his blue eyes,

“I can’t find Mr. Whiskers.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Mr. Whiskers was a stray cat, that John had found a few months back, and which had quickly become the object of John’s ardent affections. Sherlock never knew the reason. To him, Mr. Whiskers was a rather ugly, limping cat who was being progressively fattened under John’s ministrations. In the beginning, Sherlock had been inanely vindictive to that creature that he saw as a competitor for John’s affections, but soon the rational part of Sherlock’s brain overrode his seven-year old childish self, and he had grudgingly come to accept the cat’s presence in their lives. Some part of him was actually glad to have at got rid of the cat, but nothing was worth seeing His John so sad.

“John. It was stray cat. Did it ever occur to you that it just sort-of went away?”

John vigorously shook his head. “No! Mr. Whiskers would never leave me.”

Sherlock could not help but agree to that. Nobody in their right mind would ever leave the amazing John Watson. He got up from his seat and knelt down before John, and keeping his hands on John’s thighs, seriously looked into face. His blue eyes were devoid of their usual twinkle. This will just not do.

“John. Believe me. I will find him for you.”

John sniffled. “You promise?”

“Promise.” 

And let the world know that Sherlock Holmes kept his promises. After two whole hours of climbing every tree in the neighbourhood, peeking under every bench, looking over every wall and a couple of bruises, a scraped knee and a torn school shirt later, Mr. Whiskers was found contentedly lying on the porch of Mrs. Hudson’s house, three blocks away from the park . Apparently, that middle-aged lady had charmed the cat with milk and fish, which the cat agreed was a better lunch than John’s offerings of stale bread nicked from the school’s canteen.

On finding Mr. Whiskers safe, John had all but thrown himself over that appalling creature, and had cooed over him and petted him, like he was some long-lost treasure. Sherlock was infinitely disgruntled at the outcome of the events. He had expected John to be tripping over himself in praises for Sherlock, and fawn over him and swear that Sherlock was the best friend and companion that one could have. But, John did nothing of that sort. He was too preoccupied in playfully admonishing Mr. Whiskers for running away. So, Sherlock settled for heavily pouting and glaring in John’s direction, which obviously went unnoticed. 

Therefore, it went this way. For the next few days, Sherlock drowned himself in sulking and begrudging the entire world in general. John tried his best to talk to him, and figure out the mystery behind his moping friend, but to no avail. Sherlock stayed tight-lipped and cutting. But they still met up every day at the park (though predictably John was the one who did all the talking). It was one such afternoon in the park, when John pushed a notebook into Sherlock’s hands.

Sherlock frowned. “What is this?”

“My copy.” John replied cheekily.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Why are you giving this to me?”

“Open it.”

Sherlock sighed, but opened the notebook nevertheless. He could never refuse His John. There was just one entry in it. An essay, of sorts, titled “The Case of the Missing Cat”. John had written about their search for Mr. Whiskers. Though the work was replete with spelling mistakes and grammatical errors, and had earned a paltry B- from the teacher, but Sherlock found that he couldn’t care less. John had written most highly about him and had described Sherlock as being brilliant. Sherlock preened. 

John waited with bated breath as Sherlock read through the entire entry. “You like it?” he asked with no slight trepidation.

Sherlock looked at him. For some time he said nothing but simply looked at John with a restricted look in his eyes, as if almost afraid. 

“You really think I am brilliant?”

John could have laughed in relief. “Of course I do, silly. You are brilliant.”

Sherlock smiled. “So you wrote it down…”

“Yeah. I did. As I am going to write down every adventure we are ever going to have.” 

John offered him a dazzling smile, his azure (not just blue, Sherlock noted) twinkling in excitement. At that moment, Sherlock knew that that smile was worth the scraped knee and all the grief that his mother had given him for the torn shirt. Anything to see John smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. This fic is not Beta-ed. So, if you find any spelling or grammatical errors, please point them out.  
> P.P.S. This story shall eventually delve into the Alpha/Omega dynamics and all the drama that it brings with it. But, not right now.

**Author's Note:**

> If I find in myself the patience to continue the story, it will mostly be short-updates. I hate typing.


End file.
